


Old Lace

by bachtoreality



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Coming on Face, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bachtoreality/pseuds/bachtoreality
Summary: His hands play at the buttons on his worn green flannel. In slow pushes and pulls he reveals himself to Hannibal. The scars of the games they had played before fresh and old litter his skin like rubbings of charcoal; an immaculate portrait of their own design.





	Old Lace

The fever never left, not in feeling at least. The agents of its perpetration- the biological basis for causation may have left his system months ago, but he could still feel it. When your body goes through such abuse it can only remember that phantom pain. It is days like this when that swelling clench in his temples leaves him hot behind the eyes as if they were holding back a furnace. He rubbed his forehead and pushes back rimmed glasses to run through black curls.

It is days like these where he fixes Hannibal with a steely glare of eyes icy in nature as they are in color. The pain is just a reminder of how much he has been hurt and how much he continues to hurt. He had always half hoped the plunge would have killed one of them- probably him. He had wounded Hannibal, cut him metaphorically and physically yet there he still stood. In front of a large black stove, simmering bone and root vegetables for stock.

“Generally for this recipe it calls for beef or pork bones, but I believe this will do. It requires more time, I am afraid, as the gelatin develops slower with the materials we are given.” Hannibal speaks, more at Will than to him.

“You mean human bone. You can just say it, no need to beat around the bush with me.” Will says, limping toward a stool beside the stove. It was something Hannibal had put there to be close to him. He knows Will is not interested in cooking but nonetheless enjoys the company.

“Where ever is the fun in that. I am not a blatant person. That would be you, my dear.” He goes to place a kiss on Will's cheek but is rebuffed as the other man moves his face out of his reach.

The annoyance in Hannibal's eyes is so minute that anyone else would miss it. Will doesn't. He smiles despite himself, despite this act of refusal. It is a dance that Hannibal finds himself tired of. He grabs Will's face in a single grip that although light- threatens more.

The kiss he gives him this time makes its mark on soft protesting lips. It is filthy, full of tongue with teeth fighting for dominance. It takes no time until his attentions leave Will breathless, grabbing for Hannibal as he moves a step back.

Will frowns, unamused with the game they are playing.

Instead he insisted on something new. His hands play at the buttons on his worn green flannel. In slow pushes and pulls he reveals himself to Hannibal. The scars of the games they had played before fresh and old litter his skin like rubbings of charcoal; an immaculate portrait of their own design. It leaves him breathless each time. His hands like old friends betray him in the cruelest way- they reach out to touch, to feel the pale expanses. This effort is only met with a soft tutting sound as Will uses his one good leg to keep the distance between them. It is agonizing to watch but not touch.

“Only if you crawl.” Comes the ultimatum from Will's smirking lips.

“Gladly, my dear.” Is Hannibal's response, like a shot with no hesitance.

“You're pathetic. Is this what you have always wanted?”

“I always envisioned something more... Egalitarian.”

“Somehow I believe you wish our roles had reversed.”

“Only if that would leave you content.”

“Have you thought about it?”

“Countless times.”

“And what about this-” Will is reaching his leg out, his foot balancing on Hannibal's shoulder and keeping him bowed down on the ground. It is a sight to take, the once mighty Chesapeake ripper fallen to such lows.

“This is exciting for you. It provides you the strength you feel you lack in this relationship. You need mooring and if this gives it to you then I shall continue to kneel.”

“Where was this care and support when I was rotting in a psychiatric ward and you were busy fucking Alana? Where does that gauge on your sudden willingness to give any care about my happiness?”

Hannibal stayed silent, he felt no need to explain himself. It wasn't even a question.

“When were you thinking about my happiness when you slit the throat of the only good thing in my life? You are like ash to water- a polluting force that corrupts with murky black all that it touches.”

“I kept her alive for you.”

“You kept her alive to punish me. There's a difference. She was my daughter.” The words come out before he can stop them. He knows they aren't true but as he says them they feel like they are.

“She was my daughter too.”

“And now she is gone.”

“Yes.”

Will feels the anger dissipate, replaced instead with a crushing wave of tired dejection.

“I still visit her, at the river. I teach her to fish and she looks happy. I don't ever remember seeing her smile without some sadness in it, but there-”

“Am I there with you?”

Will frowns, he looks away.

Hannibal finds that unacceptable. He grabs the calf that weighs him down and pulls Will to the kitchen floor with a loud crack. It takes little force to straddle the other man force him to meet his gaze.

“I always see you, behind my eyes. In my dreams, Will. You are there to haunt me- a living ghost.”

Will looks at him, incredulous.

“Your pot is boiling over.” Is the dead pan response.

“Yes. Yes it is. We will continue this later. I must try and salvage what our carelessness has caused.”

Hannibal gets up first with a few motions to straighten his attire and dust what dirt came to his pristine cordovan dress shirt. Will meets this gesture with a dramatic eye roll. He winces as he raises up, using the edge of the stool as leverage.

“I love you, Hannibal. But I can't forgive you.”

“I know.”

“I wonder if that is why-” Will stopped, his eyes looking away.

“Why what, Will? It is not like you to leave a thought unfinished- or a barb unpricked.” Hannibal had turned the heat down low. He skimmed away small particles floating to the top.

“I wonder if that is why you let me do this.”

“Repentance is the basis for human belief, understanding and forgiveness. It is the idea that measure for measure we must move on in our lives.”

Will just looks past him.

“I can still feel the pain. It won't go away, not forever.”

“Then we must find some other way to cope. Shall I help you once I pour the aspic into the molds?”

Will nods. It is their routine to do this. If he gets worked up.

 

“There were a group of Bonobos who were transplanted from their typical surroundings and given a more controlled environment and in turn their social structure changed. Although they are one of the more tame species of Hominids, they are still prone to the misgivings of social interaction. But when food was no longer a scarcity and they had freedoms otherwise restrained in nature they found themselves solving problems in ways not amounting to aggression.”

“They started fucking their problems away.”

“That's a crude way to put it.”

“They teach about it in sociology. Basic sociology.”

Hannibal is standing straight, pouring himself a small tincture of brandy near the back of his new study. It is similar to his old office in that it is filled with morbid trinkets and garish décor, but the color was what made it theirs. Will had picked the swatch out for the name- Arsenic. An ashen muted green that dredged the saturation out of anything around it.

He would have been happy with a completely monotone house, like a funeral parlor that had been partially burned down. Something to fit the two of them. But Hannibal was not one to shy away from color. In the windows hung Byzantium curtains with dark pewter embellishments.

Will was staring at Hannibal. Urging him indirectly to make the first move.

“I want you tell me what you need, Will. To satisfy that itch.”

“I need you in a vise, with a gag in your mouth.”

“That could be arranged.”

“You would look stupid like that.”

“No need for rudeness.”

  
“I want you on your knees, in front of me.”

Hannibal smirked. He enjoyed this particular activity.

Will was already hard by the time cold air hit his sensitive cock. He moaned at the sensation, it was a beautiful sound. Higher in tone than what would be expected but soft and short. Like he meant it.

He stopped the other man before he could take his cock in his mouth.

“Just stay like that and look at me.” Will's voice is a whisp. His eyes dilated and full.

He is working himself, not even trying to stifle every delicious sound coming out of his mouth. Hannibal's hands clench at his side. He is desperate to grab and tear- to rend his lover into pliancy.

Instead he watches as Will's face tightens, a gasp so sweet and sudden it takes him a moment to register the hot wet stripes of release that have hit him. It should have been disgraceful- embarrassing even. But to see Will in such detail was nothing short of a treasure. Usually the man is downcast eyes and embarrassed apologies. Even when they are in bed he tended to hide his face- or attempt to. He would bite the inside of his arm and worry the tender flesh there in an attempt to quiet his most imperfect desires to be loud. To enjoy being fucked by someone who left him utterly wrecked in every other capacity.

Hannibal was already ripping at his own trousers, to get hands on himself as he thought about tying the empath and forcing him to bear himself completely. To be scrutinized with no where to run. He was coming in waves into his kerchief, his head rubbing into Will's knees.

 

Will chuffed.

“You got come all over my pant leg.”

Hannibal let out a genuine laugh.

“I promise I will clean it later.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Will could feel the fog from his brain lift, the heat gone.

 


End file.
